


'Cause I Got You

by DoubleL27



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Competent David Rose, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, M/M, Minor Injuries, Patrick Brewer is stubborn, but no actual hospital, mentions hospital, some mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: David reorganizes the cupboard while he waits. The flosses are all out of order down here, probably from the last time Stevie slept over. It’s like she enjoys fucking with the careful order things to provoke him. David carefully resets all the little containers with their cotton swabs and cotton rounds, waiting. He does not send Stevie an angry text, because that’s all she wants.He’s in the middle of making sure the guest bathroom’s face care section is properly handled: cleaners, lotions, masks, and toners in single serve packets by skin type, when Patrick howls, “Owwww!”“Is that abigow or asmallow?” David calls, stopping his progress immediately.“FUCK!” Patrick responds in a very un-Patrick like manner.“Big ow,” David mutters to himself, snatching the first aid kit off the shelf.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 16
Kudos: 179





	'Cause I Got You

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to TINN for the quick beta and keeping me from overthinking things. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEdUDm8JEOc/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) Foxes in Love comic. David and Patrick are the Foxes in Love. I have no regrets.
> 
> Title is from Noah Reid's song "Got You"

David can feel the frown on his face deepening, like two strings were attached to the corners of his mouth and pulling on them. He’s been watching his husband since the start of the pie-making adventure. The last five minutes have been excruciating. Or at least, what has felt like five minutes, since Patrick pulled the bag of strawberries straight out of the freezer and picked up a knife. 

“You shouldn’t chop frozen strawberries like that,” David says, unable to stop the thought that has been circling in his head from finally escaping his lips. One shouldn’t back-seat drive, or cook, but David has never been able to stick to that advice. 

Patrick doesn’t look up, but bites on his lip and adjusts his grip on a slippery strawberry before grinding out, “I’m OK.”

The tone definitely suggests this OK was the equivalent of a fine. Neither of which is good. David throws his head back and bounces slightly. 

“You could at least use one of the _many_ appliances you have accumulated that are made to do... _that_ if you insist on cutting them.”

“The food processor and the blender would both chop the berries too small for the pie,” Patrick explains, voice short and clipped. 

David’s head tilts, trying to make sense of what Patrick is saying. “But you shredded the apple?”

“Because it’s for binding the filling, not...David, I’ve got this.”

David frowns as his hands move in frustrated circles. “You _could_ let them thaw.”

“They’ll be too soft.” Patrick looks at him and says in the delightfully stern voice that does things to David, “David, I’ve got this.”

David hums suspiciously. Patrick does not ‘got this.’ Considering for just a moment, David turns on his heel and heads for the first-floor bathroom. “I’ll get you a bandaid.”

“David, I said I’m okay.”

 _For how long?_ David thinks to himself, stepping into the bathroom and opening the medicine cabinet. They have a wide variety of bandaids: the woven flexi-fabric ones, the waterproof ones that leave your skin looking like you’ve been submerged in water for weeks underneath, large bandaids, tiny bandaids and the novelty ones that Stevie likes to give as ridiculous gifts. They have crime scene, underwear, and zombie biohazard bandages from the holiday season. Most of the ones Patrick likes are in the first-aid kit.

David reorganizes the cupboard while he waits. The flosses are all out of order down here, probably from the last time Stevie slept over. It’s like she enjoys fucking with the careful order things to provoke him. David carefully resets all the little containers with their cotton swabs and cotton rounds, waiting. He does not send Stevie an angry text, because that’s all she wants. 

He’s in the middle of making sure the guest bathroom’s face care section is properly handled: cleaners, lotions, masks, and toners in single serve packets by skin type, when Patrick howls, “Owwww!” 

“Is that a _big_ ow or a _small_ ow?” David calls, stopping his progress immediately. 

“FUCK!” Patrick responds in a very un-Patrick like manner. 

“Big ow,” David mutters to himself, snatching the first aid kit off the shelf. 

He rushes out to the kitchen to tend to his husband. David still connects tending Patrick’s many wounds with the day Patrick proposed. So Patrick can keep right on being clumsy. When he opens his mouth to ask what bandaid style Patrick prefers, David gets a look at his husband and freezes in his tracks. There is a bright, gushing blood coming from his husband’s hand, dripping through the fingers putting pressure on it. The first aide kid drops out of David’s hands with a clatter. 

David’s stomach turns over as he grits his teeth together. David hates blood. His mother and sister have always been kind enough to keep most of their drama blood free. Or if there was blood, Alexis was usually halfway around the world and just wanted him to mail stuff. Patrick needs him. David sucks a full breath in through his nose before springing into action. 

It only takes him a few steps to reach the kitchen towel drawer and yank it open. David dives in and snatches the ugly floral tea towels Marcy used to pad the last care package. He’d stuck them at the bottom of the drawer to keep them from making it out into the careful modern industrial farmhouse look he has crafted. Saving Patrick from bleeding out and telling Marcy he was sorry about the casualty of her gifted tea towels later was a better use for them anyways. 

Patrick‘s complexion has slid from his usually ghostly pale to a translucent gray. David crosses to him, pretending that all the red is berry juice and not coming from _—no, nope, not thinking about that._ David thinks loudly, swallowing his fear.

“Okay, we are going to press these to the cut instead of just your hand,” he orders, passing the towels over to Patrick. 

Thankfully, Patrick is very good at following orders. He does it without saying a word and David closes his eyes to keep himself from looking at how bad the cut is because the red is bad enough. 

David takes another two breaths and forces himself to stay calm when he opens his eyes. Patrick is still wide eyed, still a waxy grey. “We are taking your car to get that stitched up,” David snaps, trying to bury the panic with the steps that need to be taken. 

“I’m sorry, David,” Patrick whispers, his voice taking on the small, childlike tone it does when he’s upset. 

“You owe me several pies,” David says, pushing Patrick toward the door. “We’ll wait until after this has been seen by a doctor, though. Or a vet. We should maybe go to the vet’s office. Let’s go.”

“We don’t have to go to the vet’s office, David,” Patrick insists. David pulls out his least favorite pair of Patrick’s shoes from their shoe organizer. The brown leather shoes resemble an unholy alliance between a sneaker and a loafer with none of the merits of either. He helps Patrick into them as Patrick continues. “It’s not that bad.”

David’s lips pop from their pursed space to more of a duck face. “Mmkay. We’ll take an expert’s opinion on that. Thank you very much.”

The keys to Patrick’s car are hanging up on the wrought iron hook that Patrick installed last year. David snatches them off and pushes the door open.

“I’ll get you a pie from the nice bakery in Elm Valley,” Patrick tells him. 

David stills, tilting his head as he considers. “Two pies. Rin makes those nice, individual pies.”

Patrick manages a small smile and his color improves slightly. “Yes, David. Two pies.”

Patrick steps through the door that David holds open and starts making his way to the car. “Don’t take the pressure off,” David calls after him. David locks the door and moves to rush past Patrick. “I will do all the opening of things.” 

“Thank you, David.”

“Okay, no need to thank me yet,” David insists, helping Patrick into the car.

“Oh, I think there is,” Patrick returns, kissing David's neck. "So, thank you."


End file.
